


After the Knighting

by SaltAndSmoke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fear of Death, Feels, House Lannister, House Stark, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week, Kissing, Love, Mutual Pining, POV Jaime Lannister, Post-Episode: s08e02 A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, White Walkers, Winter, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 13:02:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18623809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltAndSmoke/pseuds/SaltAndSmoke
Summary: After her knighting, Ser Brienne of Tarth has but one question to the knight who made her a knight. And as the night grows darker and colder, they both find themselves in need of warmth and comfort until the dawn of their last day rises.





	After the Knighting

Jaime's footsteps echoed off the cold, damp walls as he strode down the hallway, away from the great hall, its warming fireplace, and the silent people in front of it. The weight of his armour was pulling on him, tugging him down, mail rustling beneath boiled leather and scaled steel. His whole body was aching, from the long ride up to Winterfell, but also from the thrice-cursed cold that crept in from every direction, an ice-cold noose pulling tight around them all. He was tired. Exhausted, to be correct. Had he ever felt that way when he was younger? He couldn’t remember. Still, Jaime was certain that he had never been in a similar state during his prime; he felt like an old man, older, much older than his forty years. All he wanted was to rest.

_I am already feeling dead, and in just a few hours, my feelings might match my state._

Glum thoughts, in a glum place, awaiting a glum fate. Brilliant.  
Jaime let out a long sigh and rubbed his sore shoulders, while trotting off the long way to his bedchambers. He had been given a corner in the stables, close to the horses, and the pigs, and the smithery. Apparently, names and titles had lost their importance here – unless ones name was Stark or Targaryen, of course. Jaime allowed himself a small scoff. It sounded drained, and not the least bit spiteful. At least it was warm, down there in the hay, surrounded by animals and close to the restlessly running forges. It was more than he deserved, he had to admit to himself. Yet, the mere thought of his sister seeing him sleeping with the pigs made him grit his teeth with rage.

_Best not to think of her._

He might not even be granted an hour of sleep, that much he knew. An attack was imminent, the horns could sound any time now, any minute. The whole castle was on edge, but for the first time in his life, Jaime Lannister would have preferred a few hours of deep, dreamless slumber to a fight. Because the fight before him was a war, and it seemed endless. Although, for him, it might just end on the morrow.

 _But it won’t, will it?_ The ever-teasing voice inside his head whispered. _If you die in this war, the fighting won’t be done for you. The war won’t be done for you. You know that._

Of course he bloody knew. He shook his head and bid the dark thoughts to bugger off, but they just backed off a bit and crowded the edges of his consciousness like black smoke, ready to engulf him the second his mind slipped. His sword hand was hurting again. Jaime looked down at the useless stump and did not even attempt to scratch it. That would just make it worse. He wished he still had –

“Ser Jaime?”

A voice, so familiar, cut through the dark and the cold and made his heart stumble. Jaime turned around.

“Ser Brienne.”

Her confidence wavered for a second, muscles tensing, confusion in her gaze. Hearing her new title had clearly taken her aback for a moment.

_Still the same old wench, I see._

A prickly comment lay on the tip of his tongue, but Jaime swallowed it hastily enough. Instead he said:

“What is it?”

She hesitated. Her eyes were sitting in her face like two dark ponds, deep and murky. Oh, how he would have loved to see their true colour just now.

“What you did earlier…” she shifted, somewhat uncomfortably, “…you did not have to do it.”

“Do what? Knight you?”

“Yes, I –“

“Why?”

Brienne looked at the ground for a second, fumbling with the pommel of her sword.

“Pray, don’t misunderstand me, Ser Jaime. I am deeply honoured, and incredibly thankful for what you have done. All I ever wanted…all I have ever striven for…”, she ruffled her light hair with one gauntleted hand, “…was to be a good knight, title or no. And now I have legitimation…” her voice trailed off. “But I would like to know…why you did what you did. Jaime, why did you knight me?”

He looked at her, the way she stood before him. Tall, taller than him, broad-shouldered, broad-faced, clad in mail and armour that hid any femininity from view. Calloused hands in lobstered gauntlets, hands that had pushed and dragged him for weeks on end, through the mud and blood of the riverlands. Arms, thick and sinewy from swinging a sword from a tender age on, legs like tree trunks, muscular and strong, and above it all, two incredibly large, incredibly blue eyes that were now dark with uncertainty. A part of Jaime wanted to take that uncertainty away from her, to tell her the truth, but he did not dare to speak the words. So he simply shrugged and said:

“I don’t know.”

_Liar._

Disappointment flashed across Briennes’ face, stark and bitter like a shadow at noon, but she tucked it back behind a mask of mild concern only a moment later. It had been there though. And it was still lingering in her voice as she spoke.

“You don’t know?”

she edged a little closer, still a few feet away from him, but close enough for Jaime to see the freckles on her coarse features. He caught himself comparing them to starry constellations.

“You certainly must have had a reason, Ser”.

_Still so formal, after all we’ve been through._

He bowed his head and took a deep breath. Not so long ago, he would have brushed her request off with a grin and a snarky remark that would have hurt her and made him feel slightly bad beneath thick layers of arrogance and confidence, both of which were feigned. But those times were gone, the layers stripped away, and all that was left now was an old, tired man, the once-golden lion of Casterly Rock. He lifted his gaze from the ground and looked up at Brienne’s shadowed face.  
He could tell her one part of the truth.

“I knighted you,” Jaime began, “because out of all the people in that room tonight, you deserved it the most.”

He could see that she wanted to say something, but he cut her off before a word had left her lips.

“I know that you cannot see it, Brienne, but you are worthier of this title than any of the men in this castle who bear it. You are braver than them, stronger than them, more loyal and more compassionate. You are good. I gave you your title so you could finally understand that, too.”

Brienne’s expression was illegible, and for a moment, Jaime wondered if he had made a mistake. When she spoke, her voice was soft and quiet.

“When you say that I am better than any of the knights in this castle –“

“Probably even this realm!”

“ – do you…include yourself?”

She looked at him closely, he could feel her eyes upon his face, searching for a trace of sarcasm, a sign that he was jesting. Fooling her. There wasn’t one.

“I do.”, Jaime said, with as much genuine earnest as he could muster.

Brienne shook her head, incredulous. Jaime took a step forward and craned his head back a bit to look her in the eyes. His next words lay lightly on his tongue, like birds wanting to break free from the cage they had been locked away in for too long.

“You saved me, Brienne. You told me to move on and to fight when all I wanted was to die. You believed me and my sorry sob story that I told you in a fit of self-pity. You trusted me, even though you always knew who I was. You have always striven to protect the weak. You have never broken an oath, and you continue to vouch for me, even now, in a place full of men who’d rather see me dead than fight at their side, and you do so knowing that your loyalty to me will most likely turn these men against you as well. So yes, Brienne of Tarth, you are, and have always been, a better knight than me by far.”

The silence that followed Jaime’s words was deafening. Brienne stood very still, looking down on him, her eyes shadowed by her heavy brow; all Jaime could see in the flickering light of the nearby torch was the lower part of her face, her wide mouth forming a hard line, only the corners twitching indecisively. Jaime found himself wondering whether she was fighting back a smile or tears…or both. He really hoped that she would not get emotional now, as he had no idea how to react to her tears. His own heart was still racing, fluttering against his ribcage as if he had just run six miles in heavy armour. He had not felt like this in years, and not for anyone other than his twin. Jaime felt a sudden urge to step forward, cross the remaining space between them and – what was he thinking?

_You lovesick fool. Her? Of all the women in the realm, **her**? _

The voice inside his head was spiteful, the voice of a scorned lover, his sister’s voice. But Jaime knew the answer, he could feel it within him, his whole body wanted to cry it out and yet he stayed silent, waiting in anticipation for a sign that never came.

When he could not bear the silence any longer, he broke it, his voice less steady than he would have liked.

“Be it as it may, it is late, and this might be the last time in my life that I can get a few hours of sleep, so I am off to bed. I am wishing you a good night, Ser.”

Jaime cleared his throat, bowed his head and turned around awkwardly, ready to walk off.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his wrist, holding him back. Jaime spun around and was about to say something rather inappropriate when his gaze met Brienne’s.  
It felt as if all air had left his body at once. He could not breathe, could not think straight. By reaching out for him, Brienne had shifted into the flickering light of a torch, and her face was aglow with its warm shine. He could see every last freckle on her fair skin, every fine flaxen hair, shimmering like spun moonlight, every silvery scar where old scratches had healed. And yet, above all this beauty, it was her eyes that made Jaime’s heart falter: they caught the light, and within seconds, murky ponds became the famed sapphire sea of Tarth, a blue so deep and beautiful that it made his knees weak and suffocated any vicious quip that might have been on his mind moments ago. It had been her eyes he had fallen for first, such a long time ago, Jaime realized, and now he was drowning in them.

“Jaime, please wait.”

Brienne’s voice was tense, almost pleading. She seemed to be struggling with herself, failing to find the right words.

“I – I just wanted to say … if, if you meant all that you just said, then I wanted you to know that – Ah, to hell with it!”

She let go of his wrist and the next thing he knew, her lips were on his, and his hand in her hair, and her arms around his waist, and their bodies moving closer together than he could have ever hoped to dream.  
Brienne was inexperienced, he could feel it in her movements, but the fierceness of her kiss not only surprised, but excited him beyond what he had thought possible in his exhausted state. His mind and heart were racing alike, and he felt a rush of heat shooting through his body, making his skin tingle and his ears ring. She smelled of leather and horse, of hay and sweet wine, smoke and steel and summer all at once. For a moment he could have sworn that he’d caught a whiff of bear as well.

Jaime’s fingers were entangled in her hair, pulling her towards him. He could feel Brienne slowly easing up against his lips, adjusting to his pace as they were falling into a conjoined rhythm. He let go of her hair and started tracing the line of her jaw, caressing her cheek as her own hands were slowly and inevitably sliding down his back.

She tasted like spring.

Finally, they broke the kiss and stood there, in the empty hallway, panting white clouds of mist in the darkness. Embraced. There was a glow in Brienne’s eyes that Jaime had never witnessed before. And she was smiling, a shy but happy smile. A beautiful smile.

After a moment, or an eternity, Jaime found his voice again, if not his breath.

“Now, were you going to finish that sentence?”

For a second, Brienne seemed confused, brought back from a faraway place, but she caught herself quickly. And the smile returned to her face. Her voice was husky as she spoke, raw with wonder and emotion.

“I wanted to tell you that-”, she closed her eyes, fought with herself, and won. “If you meant all that you said to me, and if these truly are the last few hours of our lives…”, her eyelids fluttered and her gaze found his again, “then I wanted you to know that I love you, Jaime Lannister. I have done so for a long time, and I will do so for as long as I may live.”

The words hung in the air between them, almost as visible as their cloudy breath. Jaime’s heart felt like bursting. Any words that came to his jumbled mind stayed caught in his throat; he could not form a coherent thought while his entire body was humming with joy. All he wanted to do was to kiss her again.  
And so he did.

 

***

 

He could not help but grin against her lips as Brienne started to gently nudge him into the general direction of her bedchambers. She withdrew a little and looked him in the eye, furrowing her brow the way she always did when something was troubling her.

“What is it?”

He gave a small chuckle.

“Brienne the Beauty and the Golden Lion of Casterly Rock. I would love to be alive when they sing _that_ song.”

She reached out for his face with ungloved hands, pushing away strands of once-golden hair, and stroked his cheek. Her smile was sad, but in her eyes lay a determination that made Jaime shiver.

“We will be.”


End file.
